


Concilliabule

by anthean



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: AU Where Cosette Has Friends, Canon Era, F/M, Hijinks & Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 18:18:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1827790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthean/pseuds/anthean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A secret meeting of people who are hatching a plot"</p><p>Feuilly and Courfeyrac have devised a scheme to take Cosette out for a night on the town, but Cosette has done some scheming of her own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concilliabule

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a tumblr prompt. Back in May [I decided](http://anthean.tumblr.com/post/84793939001/ive-had-a-brilliant-idea-and-the-name-of-this) that Feuilly/Cosette would be the greatest thing ever. This is the first of no doubt many attempts to convince the internet to decide similarly.
> 
> I gave Feuilly a slightly grandiose name; probably Jean or something would have been more period-accurate, but this way Feuilly gets to fume about sharing a name with an emperor.

"Wait here," Feuilly says, touching Courfeyrac's arm lightly. "I'll fetch her. One will be less noticeable than two."  
  
"You don't need to make excuses if you want to kiss your mistress in private," Courfeyrac says. Feuilly, to his credit, denies nothing but admits nothing either. "Go, go, I'll wait here, quiet as a mouse."  
  
"Quiet as a _cat_ ," Feuilly says, "waiting to pounce," but he hurries away down the narrow alley until all Courfeyrac can make out is the soft receding smudge of his dun-colored coat. Feuilly stops in front of a gate about halfway down the alley and begins to speak to someone on the other side. Courfeyrac strains his ears—he respects his friends, but he's _curious_ —but Feuilly's words are too soft, lost in the gloom of the alley.  
  
Finally Courfeyrac hears a high, feminine, laugh, the gate opens, and a young woman steps out. It's hard to see through the darkness, but as she looks around Courfeyrac is reminded of a young fox kit Combeferre had, in boundless enthusiasm, rescued from a pack of dogs and nursed back to health. They had taken the kit to a wood outside Paris to be released once it had healed, bundled carefully in a basket in Combeferre's arms. This girl's movements, light and careful and wondering, remind Courfeyrac of that fox, its world so suddenly, delightfully, widened.  
  
They're coming towards him now, Feuilly's mistress on his arm, and Courfeyrac pushes away from the wall where he'd been leaning, careful to readjust the fall of his coat and brush off any dust. Close up, with better light, Feuilly's mistress is a small, rosy, girl, the bloom in her cheeks almost making up for the stylish yet slightly awkward arrangement of her dress and hair. "Are we ready?" he asks.  
  
"Cosette, may I present Monsieur Courfeyrac," Feuilly says. "Courfeyrac, Mademoiselle Fauchelevent."  
  
Mademoiselle Fauchelevent presents her hand; Courfeyrac bows over it. "Delighted," he says, and they turn towards the street.  
  
"Alexandre," Mlle Fauchelevent says after a moment, "you still haven't told me where we're going."  
  
"It's because I don't know myself," Feuilly says. "Our evening's destination has been left entirely in Courfeyrac's slightly suspect hands."  
  
"Basest slander," Courfeyrac says. "I'm appalled at this characterization. Mlle Fauchelevent might get entirely the correct idea of me."  
  
"Oh, Alexandre already warned me that you were an unprincipled rogue," Mlle Fauchelevent says, laughing over Feuilly's protests. "I think his exact words were _a pompous dandy, smug as a cat, with the morals to match_."  
  
Oh, Courfeyrac _likes_ this girl. If she and Feuilly weren't so obviously besotted he might try for her himself. "All true, I'm afraid. Now you see the kind of disreputable company Monsieur Feuilly keeps."  
  
"He also said you had a good heart, and were a true friend," Mlle Fauchelevent says. "So I think I can trust you to direct our evening, Monsieur Cat."  
  
"Who am I to contradict such a beauty?" Courfeyrac asks, entirely to watch Feuilly glare and Mlle Fauchelevent blush. "We are bound for the Cafe des Fleurs, only a few streets away. They do very good…oh, those little puffs, with the apricot, you know what I mean? Grantaire found it."  
  
Feuilly''s head jerks up. "Will Grantaire be there tonight?" he asks, alarmed.  
  
"Of course not. I specifically recruited Joly and Bossuet to occupy him at billiards tonight, so who knows when next they'll surface. But many of our friends will be there, all eager to meet the lady who has charmed Feuilly. I don't think you've quite eclipsed the partition of Poland as his favorite topic of conversation, but you're certainly a close second. The two of you may stay out as long as you like."  
  
This seems to remind Feuilly of something, and he sets a hand on Mlle Fauchelevent's where it rests in the crook of his arm. "Are you quite sure you won't be missed?" he asks.  
  
"As sure as I can be," Mlle Fauchelevent replies, unconcerned. "Papa goes to bed at sundown, to save the candle, and tonight is Toussaint's night off. I greased the gate hinges yesterday so they wouldn't creak and alert anyone—that was Alexandre's idea," she says aside to Courfeyrac, "—and I nearly got in such trouble when Toussaint saw how dirty my hands were, but that's no matter now. And I put a bolster in my bed and mussed the bedclothes, just in case. I found that in a book Alexandre brought me," she finishes with a self-satisfied smile. Feuilly smiles back at her, and for a moment they get caught up in each other's eyes, the rest of the world dismissed utterly. It's unbearably precious, nearly as bad as when Joly and Bossuet had first discovered Musichetta. Thank goodness there's only one of Feuilly; Jolllly and his _aigle_ had taken months to tire of singing Musichetta's praises in tandem.  
  
Mlle Fauchelevent is first to remember that people besides Feuilly exist. "So you see Monsieur, I have been plotting just as carefully as you," she says.  
  
"I never doubted it," says Courfeyrac. "I've also just remembered, and this may be of interest to you both—I asked Bahorel to bring Mademoiselle Cloutier tonight."  
  
"Mademoiselle Cloutier? The same Mademoiselle Cloutier who wrote _On the Struggle for Liberty And the Oppression of Women_?" asks Mlle Fauchelevent, and gasps with excitement when Courfeyrac nods an affirmative. "I've wanted to meet her for _ages_! Alexandre brought me some of her pamphlets—she has such wonderful ideas, but I have a few questions about her opinions on the role of motherhood in the Republic that I'd like her to clarify."  
  
"Careful, they'll end up wanting to collaborate," Courfeyrac says to Feuilly.  
  
"Nothing would please me better," Feuilly says, to Mlle Fauchelevent's delighted smile. They really are unsettlingly fit for one another, Courfeyrac thinks.  
  
"Well, we'll soon put you to the test," Courfeyrac say. They turn the last corner and the cafe comes into view, glowing with candlelight and stuffed full of young people, gossiping and flirting and arguing and _living_. A crowd of their friends occupies the tables outside in front of the cafe; Bahorel is the first to spot their approach, and more heads turn when he shouts and waves a boisterous greeting.  
  
Beside Courfeyrac, Mlle Fauchelevent draws a quick breath. When he looks, her eyes are shining. Feuilly presses her hand. "We're here," he says.


End file.
